Everybody Rise by Stephanie Clifford

excitement. “It was a Rockefeller camp, wasn’t it?”
    â€œThank you for not tipping your chair,” Mrs. Hacking said to her husband, who righted himself quickly.
    â€œNo, you’re thinking of Wonundra,” Mr. Hacking said. “Sachem was owned by, among others, the Stokes family, the merchant line. A daughter inherited everything and then married into the Hennings, who, of course—”
    â€œThe Beech-Nut fortune!” Scot said, unable to contain his excitement.
    Mr. Hacking looked immensely sad that his punch line had been stolen, and he gave a dour nod.
    â€œThe Beech-Nut fortune was a grand fortune,” Mr. Van Borgh opined through what sounded like ounces of phlegm; Evelyn tried to shield her torte from his spray. “Built much of the Erie Canal. And the Henning girls always married well. A Vanderbilt here, a Hunt there. Smart, I think, to limit the breeding. Kept it in the family.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?” Evelyn asked.
    â€œPrimogeniture. The Hennings kept it at one child per generation. One reason why the camp was never carved up between fighting siblings. Direct inheritance. No fuss. Sachem über alles. That’s the ticket.”
    â€œHold on,” said Charlotte. “They limited the number of kids they had so they could keep the camp in one piece?”
    â€œYes. Rather clever. Of course, Souse, who owns the camp now, didn’t hew to that, did she? At least she had two girls, not two boys. Less of a fuss. Do you sail, child?” Mr. Van Borgh said.
    Charlotte looked taken aback by this turn in conversation. “Not really. I mean, I can, but—”
    â€œThe Fruit Stripe, that’s the Hennings’ legacy as well. Souse runs the thing. You ought to race in it Sunday.”
    â€œFruit Stripe? Like the gum?” Charlotte said.
    â€œIt’s a Beech-Nut gum,” Mr. Hacking said. “The company gave a chunk of money for the race years ago, when Souse threatened that either she was going to run for a board seat or the company had to fund this race.”
    Something snapped into place, and Evelyn turned to Mr. Van Borgh. “Beech-Nut,” she said quietly. “Are they related to Camilla Rutherford?”
    â€œYes, yes,” Mr. Van Borgh said, wheezing away. “That’s one of the daughters. Camilla is the elder, Phoebe the younger.”
    Evelyn licked her lips, surprised at the whirr of excitement she was feeling. Camilla had been her top target for the weekend, and here, with barely any work, Evelyn already had an in to meet her. If she could land Camilla Rutherford as a member, she could make Arun and Jin-ho certain they’d hired the right person. “So the Fruit Stripe, that’s their thing? The Rutherfords’?” she said.
    â€œYes, it’s always been Souse’s event, and she chooses what manner of race it will be each year. Participants have to have a boathouse full of all manner of boats; one year she chose Adirondack guide boats and only a handful of the camps had them at all and could participate. Indeed, Souse even changes what weekend it will be held every summer. When it’s a May race, as it is this year, it’s dreadful for the poor racers. So very cold. I prefer an August Fruit Stripe, myself,” Mr. Van Borgh said.
    â€œUnderstandably,” said Evelyn. Of course the inhabitants of this world, she thought, would constantly change the rules of their race.

 
    CHAPTER FOUR
    Camp Sachem
    On Saturday, Evelyn roused herself at eight. No one else was up, or rather, those who were up were already gone, pursuing some character-building goal; Charlotte was on a run, and Mrs. Hacking had left a “Help yourself!” note in the kitchen, next to a big bowl of fruit, a thermos of coffee, and a good-looking walnut bread. Evelyn chewed on a piece as she rifled through the Journal , which was also sitting there, trying to position herself as an interesting